


Aloof

by draculard



Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [14]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Interfleet Politics, M/M, Pre-Heir to the Empire, Pre-Relationship, Star Destroyer Captains, Xenophobia, office politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: A blue-skinned alien claiming to be a Grand Admiral has arrived from the Unknown Regions and wrested the Chimaera from Pellaeon's control. Now, said alien has called every single Star Destroyer Captain together for a days-long summit on Imperial strategy......and Pellaeon finds himself in the strange position of defending Grand Admiral Thrawn when all the other captains want to do is gossip about him.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo
Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904581
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	Aloof

“He’s a bit standoffish, isn’t he?” said Captain Aban of the ISD _Bellicose_. Pellaeon kept his eyes on his plate, pretending he didn’t know exactly who Aban was talking about. 

“I’d go a bit further than just _‘standoffish_ ,’” said Captain Brandei of the _Judicator_. He gave a somewhat haughty sniff. “He puts on airs, alright. Four hours in and he’s said nothing of substance so far.”

Pellaeon resisted the urge to roll his eyes a little at that. If anyone here had the right to complain, it was him — he was the one with the most experience here, the one who’d been leading the Imperial fleet for four years on his own, and yet he was also the one who Grand Admiral Thrawn apparently deemed unfit to lead. He could have taken over any ship in the fleet, but he’d chosen the _Chimaera_.

“Notice how he doesn’t deign to eat with the human crew,” said Captain Powni of the _Stormhawk_. “Of course, we’d all rather he didn’t anyway, yes? I’ve heard he was in the Unknown Regions until now. Not exactly the most civilized of origin points.”

Pellaeon grimaced. Across the table, Captain Viritz, commanding officer of the _Inexorable_ , caught his eye. Viritz’s face was unreadable, but he’d served with Thrawn in the Unknown Regions, and Pellaeon couldn’t help but feel guilty over his silence when he met Viritz’s eyes.

“The admiral always takes his meals in his quarters,” he said reluctantly, stabbing his bantha steak with a fork.

“Well, that’s hardly a point in his favor,” said Powni at once. 

“Yes,” said Harbid, captain of the _Death’s Head._ “What kind of man doesn’t even eat with his own crew? Of course, he probably eats with his _hands_ , so perhaps I can’t blame him.”

A chuckle went through the captains; Powni mimed tearing his bantha steak apart with his fingers, putting an ugly Dumb Alien expression on his face as he did so. Pellaeon pushed his plate away, his stomach suddenly feeling sour.

“But it’s particularly egregious,” said Brandei when the chuckles had died away, “considering that today it isn’t just his crew in the officer’s mess. He has _guests_. Yet outside of our meetings, he’s scarcely said a word to any of us. Not exactly _inspiring_ leadership, is it?”

“He’s a bit cold, yes,” said Captain Orox of the _Peremptory_ through a full mouth. “Condescending, too. Certainly a know-it-all; you’d think being an alien he’d have learned some humility here, but instead the opposite seems true. A defensive technique, perhaps?”

Pellaeon winced at that, particularly the word _condescending_. He’d seen Thrawn walk an ensign through start-up procedures the day before, calmly and patiently, without a hint of sneering in his voice. Perhaps if the assembled captains had had the chance to see that…

The other captains fell silent, returning to their food in apparent agreement with Orox. Guilt churned in Pellaeon’s gut — not entirely explainable, in his opinion, but there nonetheless. He opened his mouth to defend the Grand Admiral.

But what came out instead was, “He _is_ a bit aloof, isn’t he?”

To his astonishment, the captains turned beady-eyed glares on him.

“What, you disagree?” asked Pellaeon nervously, his eyebrows raising. “You just said he was conde—”

“Yes, I disagree,” Orox snapped. “And I find it in incredibly poor taste, Captain Pellaeon—”

 _Fuck_. They’d all pivoted so fast that there was only one explanation: the Grand Admiral must have entered the room. Pellaeon craned his neck and found Thrawn standing right behind him, his hands tucked into his pockets and his face expressionless.

“—to talk about the Grand Admiral behind his back,” Orox finished righteously. The other captains murmured their agreement. Viritz, Pellaeon noticed, stayed conspicuously silent. They all looked to Thrawn, waiting for him to speak or vent his wrath.

After a long moment, Thrawn laid a hand on Pellaeon’s shoulder, the touch light and surprisingly warm, and said, “I’d like to speak with you in my command room if you’re done eating, Captain.”

Pellaeon looked down at his half-finished food with a twist of nausea and nodded his head. “Of course, sir,” he heard himself say through numb lips. He pushed away from the table, leaving his plate for the cleaning droid to dispose of, and followed Thrawn out of the mess. He was hyper-aware of the other captains’ eyes on his back, just as he was hyper-aware of Thrawn’s blank face and relaxed posture. He tried futilely to read something — anything — from the straight line of Thrawn’s shoulders as they walked.

They made it to Thrawn’s command room in utter silence. Inside, renovations were still ongoing — the admiral was turning his living suite into some sort of replica of the bridge, as far as Pellaeon could tell — but the room itself was empty of workers at the moment. Pellaeon hesitated in the doorway, waiting for the Grand Admiral to speak, but Thrawn continued on into the construction area without a pause. 

There was a chair in the center of the room — a good replica of the command chair on the bridge, Pellaeon thought — with dual displays in a ring all around it. Thrawn leaned over the back of the chair and fiddled with the buttons on the console for a moment, calling up different holos — all art holos, Pellaeon noticed with some surprise — and then banishing them just as quickly again.

When he’d confirmed that all displays were working, Thrawn glanced up and looked around the room, seeming mildly surprised to find Pellaeon still standing in the doorway.

“What do you think of the other captains?” he asked without preamble. Then, “May I call you Gilad?”

“No,” said Pellaeon immediately and by reflex, his feathers ruffled at the mere suggestion. His self-preservation instincts kicked in a moment later and he flushed, fumbling over his words. “I mean, sir, that is, if you find it appropriate—”

“Captain it is, then,” said Thrawn, not sounding offended. “Come closer, please, Captain. This is a conversation, not a shouting match. I prefer not to raise my voice.”

Pellaeon hesitated, but obeyed. He approached the command chair, where some of the holos were still flickering, and gave them a cursory examination. 

“Your opinion on the other captains?” Thrawn prompted. Pellaeon straightened up at once.

“I don’t find it wise to gossip about my colleagues, sir,” he said stiffly.

“Your _professional_ opinion, then,” said Thrawn. There was a faint curve to his lips — a smile? Or a sneer? Pellaeon couldn’t be sure. 

“I…” Pellaeon hesitated. “I’ve worked with them extensively over the past few years since Endor, sir.”

“Yes,” said Thrawn, his voice barely a murmur as he turned back to the art holos before him. He keyed the console and more popped up around the display ring. “That’s why I’m asking your opinion, Captain.”

“They’re competent men, sir,” said Pellaeon, not sure he entirely believed it. Not for all of them. He hesitated again — did his loyalty lie with the men he’d served alongside since Endor, some of whom had nabbed their positions through family connections and politics alone? Or did it lie with this newcomer — this alien, who had come out of the Unknown Regions and wrested control of the _Chimaera_ from Pellaeon in a spectacular display of mistrust?

He chewed it over and said, “You might want to keep an eye on Brandei, sir.”

Thrawn’s eyebrow quirked, but he didn’t react otherwise. He looked over the art holos before him. “Is that all you have to report?” he asked.

Pellaeon could have probably gotten more detailed, but he wasn’t sure Thrawn had yet earned detail. “That’s all, sir,” he said. Thrawn didn’t so much as glance his way; the blue light from the holos played off his skin, making his cheekbones stand out all the more starkly; while Thrawn stared at the art holos, Pellaeon found himself staring at Thrawn.

He forced himself to look away.

“I’d like to thank you, by the way,” Thrawn said, his tone smooth and neutral.

Pellaeon looked back again. “Thank me, sir?”

Thrawn’s eyes shifted to meet his. His lips curved again; definitely a smile this time, Pellaeon thought.

“For defending me in the officers’ mess,” Thrawn said. “I confess I didn’t hear the entire conversation, but the general trend was clear. When the other captains fell silent at my approach, you made sure to summarize the conversation for me, even though it made you look like a fool in front of your peers.”

This was rather a generous interpretation of Pellaeon's actions. He thought back over it all and wondered if he hadn't felt a slight brush of air against his back or noticed a red glow reflecting off his cutlery before he'd spoken. Across from him, Thrawn turned back to his art holos, still smiling faintly, and gave a minute shrug.

“I’ll take aloof over condescending any day,” he said.


End file.
